Space Heart
by Tsaiko
Summary: Mild language, violence. Quatre has to deal with bureaucracy, and he doesn't take that well. That's okay. His space heart and his gun helps him get through it. Slightly OOC for Quatre, but forgivable for the humor value.


It should not take three weeks to get one stamp on one piece of paper so that his family could trade food with L2. Quatre had already stood in one line for over two hours only to be told at the front counter that he had somehow gotten in the wrong line. Which meant he'd had to start all over again at the back of this line. It was now a little before 1pm, he hadn't eaten since this morning, and it looked like it was going to take all day just to get this done.

_All the food will rot in storage before I can wade through the bureaucracy._ Quatre immediately felt guilty for having the thought. It wasn't anyone's fault that so many hoops had to be leapt through to import food. _If someone brought a plague to the planet on some produce or contaminated the water supply with invasive weeds simply because someone couldn't be bothered to check the cargo, L2 would be in worse trouble than it already is._

_Still, try explaining that to people starving and rioting in the streets._

"Next!"

Quatre moved quickly forward. On the other side of a large metal desk sat a balding man in a tweed uniform. How something could be both tweed and a uniform was beyond him. It seemed standard clerical dress for L2.

"Papers." The man didn't even look up and Quatre, simply held out his hand. Quatre dutifully handed over a stack of papers almost an inch thick. The man took the stack and began to sort through them. "You didn't fill in line 97 on page 30."

"I didn't?" Quatre asked. The man handed the papers back.

"No, you didn't. You'll have to fill these out again. NEXT!"

"Wait a minute. I didn't fill out one line and I have to fill out the whole report again?" Quatre asked. The next person in line hovered behind him, unsure whether to wait or simply push the blonde out of the way. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes it does. You don't have the estimation of Earth taxes as applied to imports, line 97, filled out. If you haven't estimated the amount of Earth taxes then you can't have correct total for the estimation of the total price of goods being imported. If you don't have an accurate estimation of the total price of the goods you plan on importing, then you couldn't have applied the conversion rates correctly and you couldn't have gotten the import duties for L2 correct. It's all interconnected. Now if you'll please move out of the way... " the man said.

"Earth taxes? But I'm importing from L4. Earth taxes don't apply. That's why I left that line blank," Quatre reasoned. The man looked less than impressed.

"That's very nice, but I'm afraid you'll have to come back when you've filled out the forms correctly."

"I have filled the forms out correctly. There are no Earth taxes listed because the goods aren't going through Earth. They're being directly transferred from L4 to L2," Quatre said. The person behind him had started to clear her throat. Repeatedly.

"Regardless, line 97 is required and it is not filled out. I'm afraid you'll have to refill the forms and come back at a later date. Now _please_ move out of the way. There are other people waiting in line."

"Let me just fill in that one line," Quatre said. He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket, flipped to page 30, and filled out line 97 with a zero. "That's all that's needed because it's being shipped _directly from L4 and is not going to Earth and is therefore not subject to Earth taxes._"

"That's very nice sir, but I'm afraid I can't accept the forms now. You'll have to refill the forms and come back some other time."

"But the forms are filled out." Quatre was doing his best to be diplomatic and not lose his temper. It wasn't working. The man behind the desk was even now reaching around Quatre to take the papers from the person behind him. Quatre stepped in front of them, looked over his shoulder, and apologized to the woman behind him. "I'm sorry, but I'm still trying to work this out."

"There is nothing to work out, sir. I really must insist you leave before I am forced to call security."

"I'm not leaving until I get this stamped and am allowed to import the food your people need. The forms are filled out to your specification now. There is no reason for you not to take them."

"Sir, my manager has told me that I don't have to take this. I am calling security and having you removed from the premises." The man reached for his phone, an old fashioned headset that had to be at least a century old, and began dialing. Quatre calmly reached across the desk and hit the button that hung it up.

"Sir, my Space Heart tells me that you're an asshole. If you don't put that stupid stamp of yours on theses document, I'm going to shoot you," Quatre said in his most pleasant voice. The man's eyes grew huge.

"Ex-excuse me? Are you threatening me?"

"Yes, yes I am." When diplomacy failed, a gun usually worked. It was a sad fact of life. Quatre reached under his coat and pulled out his gun. He leveled it at the man's face as he handed the stack of paper back over to the man. "Please stamp these papers for me, sir."

Quatre watched as the pencil pusher behind the desk turned an ugly shade of red-purple. Sweat sprang up on his forehead. "You wouldn't shoot me."

In response, Quatre aimed the gun upwards and pulled the trigger. The light above him exploded in a shower of glass. People screamed and dove for cover. The woman who had been behind him in line was nowhere to be found.

It was amazing how quickly the man behind the desk stamped the papers when given the proper motivation.

"Thank you," Quatre said as he took the stack back from the man's shaking hand. "Have a nice day." Quatre re-holstered his gun and calmly walked out of the office. No one tried to stop him.

Duo wasn't waiting for him in the car, which didn't surprise Quatre. It was unpleasantly warm and he'd been in the office for over five hours. Scanning the street, he spotted a familiar braid at one of the outdoor cafes. He glanced behind him to see the man behind the desk frantically speaking into the phone.

_Time to collect Duo and leave. Quickly._ Quatre dashed across the street. Duo saw him and waved.

"Duo! Come on, let's go."

"Now? Come on, Quatre sit down and have something to drink. Too bad this place doesn't have any food, but that'll change now that you've been through Administrative Hell. You did get everything stamped, didn't you?" Duo asked, pushing his baseball cap back. Quatre nodded.

"It's all stamped. I'm really not thirsty though. Let's just head back to the hotel."

"Why are you in such a rush? Did something happen?" Duo asked. His voice was light, but there was a sudden hardness to his eyes. No one messed with his friends.

"Nothing happened. Everything is fine. I'm just tired from waiting so long," Quatre said. Duo almost believed it. Until Quatre flinched at the sound of distant sirens getting steadily louder.

"Holy shit Quatre, what did you do?"

"Noth... I pulled a gun on the guy to get him to stamp the papers. Now can we please leave before I'm arrested and deported?"

Duo, being the kind supportive friend that he was, fell out of his seat laughing. He laughed all the way to the car. He laughed all the way to the hotel. He laughed as he regaled everyone who would listen about sweet Quatre losing his cool over some paperwork.

All in all, Quatre wondered why he did so much for his friends.


End file.
